Can't Let Go(4)

When Abby saw his familiar build coming into view—she rose to her feet and hurried off the lanai, meeting him somewhere in the sand. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest, relief sweeping through her. “I knew you’d come back,” she whispered, swallowing at the lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry.

“Abby…” He said softly, his tone warning her.

“Shh,” she whispered, rising on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to his. “We’ll be okay, Logan. I know we will.” He was the first man she’d ever loved, and something inside her knew he would be the only man she ever loved.

Whatever it took, they could work it out.

“I…” He sighed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, maybe a bit reluctantly. The familiarity was comforting and she melted into him, taking his embrace as a positive sign.

“You still love me?” She asked, lifting her head so that she could meet his eyes.

“Forever, Abby.”

And she kissed him then, trying with everything she could to show him how much she cared. She felt his embrace tighten, felt him pull her closer. There was a strange hunger in his kiss—something deeper, something she’d never felt before.

And then she was in his arms, being carried inside. They tumbled into the bed and she began to work at his clothes—needing him, needing to meet his passion. She needed him to know that she was his—to convince him that their love was strong enough to last.



~*~



Logan laid there for hours after Abby had fallen asleep, burning the image of her into his memory. He knew he shouldn’t be here—he knew this was wrong, that being with her like this wasn’t right. But he couldn’t help it.

He thought back to the way she’d looked at him, standing out there under the starlit sky. Her eyes had lent to her a blind vulnerability, pleading with him in a way that broke his heart to even think about. It was a side of her he’d never seen.

She was afraid.

He had felt it the moment Abby touched him. She knew that something had changed and she was trying so hard to pretend that it hadn’t. But whatever it was—she knew it wasn’t going away.

He thought of her simple question. “You still love me?” She had been so exposed. She had revealed everything to him at that moment, and he couldn’t deny her.

He couldn’t lie to her.

No matter what happened, he would always love Abigail Lewis. She was the world to him—like he to her. Only he had to be strong enough to do what he knew was necessary. What he knew was right.

Logan hadn’t planned on coming back. He was just going to go, like she’d told him to. He was going to buy a ticket home and disappear, letting her live her life exactly like she should.

But he had to come back. He needed just one last glimpse of her. And then she was there, looking up at him with those beautiful green eyes of hers.

And so he’d stayed. He’d kissed her with a passion strong enough to last him a lifetime, and she’d returned it—perhaps with a desire even stronger than his own. And he’d made love to her, telling himself to remember it all—to take care to make it memorable for her. He knew she would think him selfish once she woke, and maybe she would be right. Maybe coming back had been selfish.

But he had to see her one last time.

He quietly left the bed, careful not to wake her as he slipped out from beneath her sleeping form. She stirred slightly and he paused, not wanting to wake her but also unable to turn away. She was the best thing he’d ever have in his life—of that he was sure.

He hadn’t brought much with him, so there wasn’t much to pack. But he did so quickly and quietly, pausing briefly to scribble a note before turning and taking her in once more.

She looked like an angel—the sun glimmering off her golden hair, her expression one of peace, surrounded by billowing white sheets and pillows.

Goodbye, my dear Abby. May you find happiness with someone who is more deserving than myself.





Chapter One





Six years later.



Abigail Lewis walked into the building that housed the magazine she worked for, slightly distracted. It had been a hectic morning—from waking up a bit late to getting stuck in the usual L.A. traffic, nothing had gone right. And to top things off, she sighed with irritation, she’d just missed the elevator. She did her best not to groan aloud as she stepped forward and stabbed at the button.

To make things even worse, she knew there was a pile of articles sitting at her desk waiting to be checked over and edited. The beginnings of a headache already stirred and she rubbed at her temples, hoping to avoid it. Not for the first time, she wished she could be the type of person who enjoyed caffeine. She would really benefit from some sort of large caffeinated beverage right about now.

The elevator dinged in front of her and she tried not to tap her foot anxiously as waited for the doors to open, instead taking a moment to look around the lobby. A few Easter decorations still adorned the walls—flowers and pastel colored ribbons, nothing at all gaudy or distasteful in Abby’s eyes. But she’d already complained to the maintenance office about it, as her boss had ordered the Monday following the holiday

Ingrid was not going to be happy about this.

Abby sighed again. It was going to be a very long day, she could already tell.

The doors opened and she hurried inside, pushing the button and stepping backward, beginning to prepare herself for the day to follow. Abby was—for all practical purposes—the chief editor of the popular gossip magazine Rumor. It was true that she was technically more like an assistant to the actual chief editor, but in all realities, she did all of the work. It was Abby that everyone went to for final approval, her boss far too busy maintaining her image in the celebrity world to really run the magazine.

And with this week’s deadline quickly approaching, she knew she was going to be in for many long—and, really, uncredited, hours. Because for all the work she did, she barely received any recognition.

But wasn’t that the way of the magazine world?

With another heavy sigh, Abby stepped out of the elevator and began to make her way toward her desk. Though she’d been with the company for going on three years now, the last of which she’d been given much more responsibility, she still hadn’t received her own office. It was only the first of many complaints she had.

As soon as she settled at her desk, she was approached by several of the novice workers with questions regarding the layout of the magazine or specifics about certain articles. Abby handled each question calmly and without hesitation—taking charge as she’d learned to do. People were grateful for her—she knew. Working with her boss, Ingrid, was a difficult task. Even just thinking about their random weekly meetings filled her with dread.

She did not look forward to the hour long sessions, during which Abby would brief Ingrid on everything that was being planned and laid out. Ingrid would bark directions and criticisms left and right, though never once did she offer to actually do her own job.

It was, without a doubt, Abby’s least favorite part of the day.

When her co-workers had finally settled into their own assigned tasks, Abby took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before the day really began. Instinctively, she glanced up at the framed photo sitting on the edge of her desk. The smiling face of her best friend stared back at her, reminding her of a happier time. In the photo, Abby smiled brightly beside Hayley the night of the wedding.

A memory of the day that followed flashed across her mind—a familiar dull ache spreading through her chest—and the image of a tousle-haired man with beautiful gray eyes and a casual confidence that got her every time conjured briefly before her eyes. She tried to push it away, not wanting to think about him or any of the havoc he had wreaked.

But of course, this was the path her mind would take today.

It made sense. She might as well torture herself as much as possible.

And as if on cue, the phone on her desk began to ring, signaling that Ingrid was in her office and waiting. Abby actually did groan then, unable to avoid it any longer. She rose to her feet and crossed the short distance to her boss’s office, trying to compose herself before entering.

“You were late.” The woman scolded before Abby even had a chance to shut the door.

“There was an accident on—”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Abigail. Sluggishness will not be tolerated.” All Abby could manage was a nod, her agitation growing. She could count on one hand the number of times she had been late to work. Ingrid, on the other hand, was rarely seen around the office before noon—if at all. “And can you please tell me why there are Easter decorations still cluttering up the lobby when we are nearly at the end of April?” Abby groaned inwardly.

“I’ll put in another call.” She didn’t see what the bother was. In her eyes, the flowers weren’t specific to Easter—they were a celebration of spring in general. But to Ingrid, they were nothing but an eyesore.